


Breaking the Mold

by patster223



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Inception Fusion, Angst with a fluffy ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Lars Gottlieb is a Bastard Man, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 01:19:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18436067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patster223/pseuds/patster223
Summary: Hermann is left shaky in the aftermath of his father attempting inception on him. Thankfully, Newt is there to tell him that his father is a dumbass, help him make a new totem, and accidentally maybe almost propose to him.Inception AU





	Breaking the Mold

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written pacrim in forever, but then geniusbee and cypress_trees got me real excited about the prompt "what would Hermann's Inception totem be?" Pre-canon.

“I’m a fool.”

“You’re not a fool,” Newt scoffs.

Hermann rolls his eyes. “I seem to recall _you_ referring to me as a fool just yesterday.”

“T-that’s not even the point,” Newt says. He scowls as he sorts through the equipment locker with renewed vigor. “You were going on about your theoretical bullshit and--that’s not even the point. When your head is in your ass, I’m _gonna_ call you out; that’s just me being a considerate boyfriend. Fucking _Lars Gottlieb_ hasn’t--and won’t ever, by the way--earn that privilege. Now hold still.”

Hermann obliges, closing his eyes as Newt slides the Pons onto his head. The metal is cool against his cheek. It’s almost a relief--Hermann’s skin has felt hot and crawling ever since--

Well, ever since he woke up.

“But I am a fool,” Hermann sighs. He tries to press his fingers to his temples, but they only brush up against the prongs of the Pons. He has to settle for placing them in his lap and is unable to stop himself from playing with the wooden puzzle box there. “Trained for years in neural security and dream architecture, and I couldn’t even _tell._ ”

“Almost nobody can tell when they’re dreaming, Hermann,” Newt says, angrily tapping at the screen of the Pons interface. “All that training is bullshit, you know it’s just security theater.”

“Then has it ever happened to you? Have you ever been tricked by a dream?”

Silence, then a few more angry taps as Newt turns on the Pons. It hums gently against Hermann’s head.

“That’s what I thought,” Hermann says bitterly. He twists at the puzzle in his hand. “I can’t believe I was once so proud of my neural defenses. Pure hubris; what good did they even do? My own father was able to slip _right_ into my head, _solve_ my totem--” Hermann shakes his puzzle “-even though _I’m_ supposed to be the only one who can solve it; _he_ is not supposed to know me like that, and--” Hermann’s voice breaks. When he laughs, it’s a crackling, wet kind of sound. “God. I can’t believe he almost got me to believe in the Wall of _Life_. Of all the nonsense for which to attempt inception.”

Newt cradles Hermann’s face in his hands. It’s awkward with the Pons in the way, but his fingers slip through the metal prongs and settle on Hermann’s cheeks. Newt’s fingers are cool too, and soft--nothing like Newt’s eyes, which burn intently as they gaze into Hermann’s own.

“He’s a dumb piece of shit,” Newt says.

“W-what?”

“He did _all_ that and his stupid little inception trick didn’t even work,” Newt says, gently shaking Hermann’s face. “That means he’s a fucking dumbass. If anyone is a fool, it’s him for thinking he could get to you like this.”

“He almost _did._ ”

“But he _didn’t._ ”

Hermann sighs. “Just check the Pons, will you?”

Newt returns Hermann’s sigh with a gusty one of his own. But he acquiesces, leaning in to press a kiss to Hermann’s nose before turning his attention back to the Pons’ interface.

“Brainwave signatures look normal to me,” Newt says, scanning through the data. “Your weird brain is the same amount of weird as ever.”

“ _My_ brain is the weird one?”

“Hey, my brain is perfectly normal!”

“Ah, yes, the perfectly average brain of a former teen prodigy and current kaiju groupie.”

To anyone else their banter would appear as normal--or as normal as the two of them ever got. But Hermann can feel their words straining and cracking under pressure. Both of them know that this business with the Pons--it’s only a pretense. Not even drift tech can tell whether any of Lars’ false memories still linger in Hermann’s brain.

Hermann wonders if his mind is simply poisoned now. He wonders if Newt can tell.

God, what are they even doing here? Drift tech is _not_ compatible with the PASIV. Just _using_ the Pons now, even unconnected to anyone else, is monumentally foolish. Mixing memories and dreams--Hermann is indeed the fool here.

“He knows,” Hermann murmurs.

Newt looks up from where he’s tapping at the Pons’ interface. “Knows what?”

“ _Everything._ Even if everything he’s done to my memories is completely eradicated-” Hermann nods to the Pons “-he was in my _dreams,_ Newton. He saw-”

He saw everything inside of Hermann: the politics, poetry, and lies his subconscious weaves around him, the thoughts that never make it to the light of day. Dreams of heroism, of romance, of _Newton_ \--all laid shamefully bare and-

“Hey,” Newt says, shutting off the Pons and pulling it off of Hermann’s head. He takes Hermann’s hands, which--huh, they’d been playing with the puzzle again. “Are you really worried about your dad disapproving of your _dreams_?”

“Is that so wrong-”

“Yes! Hermann, fuck whatever Lars thinks about you. I can’t even imagine how astounding and weird and sexy your subconscious must be. If it weren’t a complete violation of your privacy, I’d jump into your dreams right now. I mean, I _am_ the man of your dreams, so it wouldn’t even be morally wrong for me to sneak into your dreams, if you think about it-”

Hermann can’t help it; he laughs. “What an awful man you are.”

“Just for you,” Newt says, leaning in to kiss Hermann’s hands where he holds them.

Hermann smiles, pressing his thumb against the swell of Newt’s cheek. “That’s how I knew, you know.”

“Mmm?”

“It’s how I knew I was dreaming,” Hermann says. He rubs his thumb against Newt’s cheek again. The stubble scrapes against his thumb, a sensation that is undeniably _real._ “The forger he hired to play you just couldn’t get you right at all.”

“Like I said, your dad is an idiot,” Newt says. “Let me guess, they missed my tattoos? My dashing good looks?”

“The tattoos were a little off,” Hermann affirms. “But they just couldn’t...capture your spark.” He recalls the dry facsimile of Newt he’d encountered: loudness without passion, intelligence without wonder, indignation without righteousness. “It was like a paper cutout of the man I fell in love with.”

Newt rubs his cheek against Hermann’s hand. “I love you like this.”

“Like what?”

“When you let yourself feel happy and lovey and shit.”

Hermann leans into Newt, slumping with a sigh when Newt’s arms surround him in a firm hug.

“Will you sleep with me tonight?” Hermann says softly.

“Of course,” Newt says, pressing a kiss to Hermann’s hair. “And if you wake up in the middle of the night and say, ‘Oh wow, love that Wall,’ I’ll go find Lars and it’ll be on sight.”

“ _Newton._ ”

“On _sight_ , Herms.”

Hermann chuckles. “You really are impossible. No wonder they weren’t able to properly imitate you.”

“Amazed that they even tried, really.”

Hermann shifts in place and winces as the edge of the wooden puzzle jams into his stomach. He extricates himself from the hug and picks up the puzzle with a sigh.

“Now what _are_ we going to do with this thing?” Hermann says. “I suppose it’s not useful as a totem anymore, is it?”

“Chuck it,” Newt says immediately. “And, um.”

Whatever Newt’s thinking of, it’s enough to make him flush and wring his hands almost badly as Hermann had been doing only minutes ago.

“What is it?” Hermann asks.

“Okay, this doesn’t have to be, like, a _thing,_ but-” Newt stands up to rifle through his bag, finally pulling something out of the very bottom. He shoves it into Hermann’s hands, looking anywhere but Hermann as he does so.

Hermann studies the small box in his hand, then tilts his head in confusion. “It’s...wax.”

“Jewelry wax,” Newt corrects. “Specifically jewelry wax for making rings, um. I asked the salesperson what the best kind of material was for making your own rings and she said that was it, so.”

Hermann’s skin feels hot all over but in a completely different way than before. Whereas earlier Hermann’s face felt hot and dry, like a desert cracking under the intensity of the sun, now he just feels...warm. Still intense, but not all-encompassing. Like being in a kitchen where the oven has been left on just a touch too long: comforting, even in its discomfort.

“You wanted to make rings for us?” Hermann whispers.

Newt’s face is as red as--well, as red as Hermann’s must be.

“I, uh, I just thought they would make good totems,” Newt says. “If we make the molds ourselves, we could inscribe whatever we want on them. Only we would know.”

It’s a genius idea, of course. And yet, the weight of making totems--tokens of your individuality-- _together_ settles deep in Hermann’s chest. It’s not a bad weight, however. It grounds him, making him feel present in a way that he’s been seeking ever since he woke up today.

Hermann runs a hand over the box of wax. “I...it’s…”

“T-this isn’t me proposing,” Newt says, sitting down hard enough on his stool that it wobbles precariously. “I-”

Hermann lays a hand on Newt’s, and Newt takes a deep breath.

“This isn’t me proposing,” Newt says again, more softly this time. “Because, w-when I do propose, I don’t want it to be because of your dumbass dad. It’ll just be because of you.”

Hermann smiles. He realizes that he hasn’t been able to _stop_ smiling since Newt said the word ‘rings.’

“What an impossible man you are,” Hermann wonders.

“I-is that a no-”

Hermann shakes his head and pulls Newt into a kiss. As far as kisses go, it’s more stumbling than their usual ones: both of them too nervous and giggly to do more than press lips against lips, than to enjoy the simple company of their mouths against the other’s.

“It’s a yes,” Hermann says against Newt’s smile. “Or, it will be, whenever we do this for real. But, in the meantime-” Hermann shakes the box of wax “-this should make for excellent practice.”

 


End file.
